


Spirals of Smoke

by avislightwing



Series: A Court of Biker Girls and Leather Jackets [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Self-Destruction, Smoking, sorta kinda both of those idk what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: Rhys and Feyre are together, but everything is far from free and easy. There's a darkness gathering - others see it, but neither want to face it.Part 2 (more or less) of Things I'll Later Lose.





	Spirals of Smoke

It was still dark out, and Rhys was sprawled on the steps of her porch, smoking a cigarette. She’d been enjoying the quiet of the surrounding landscape, and then it had been ruined by the roar of a motorcycle. The noise was gone now, but even louder was the glare of the woman in front of her.

Manon had decided to pay her a visit.

“Cassia came to talk to me yesterday.”

Rhys blew a cloud of smoke into the cool night air. “Did she, now?”

Manon, her hair glowing in the moonlight, looked unimpressed. “Those things smell like shit. You been smoking them unfiltered?”

“I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

Manon let out a low hiss. “Believe it or not, Rhys, I care about you. And you know Cassia does. I don’t want to get a call from her in the middle of the night that you’ve run your bike into a concrete wall.”

“You’ve gone soft, Manon,” Rhys said quietly. “As I remember, you tried to kill me once. Is it that chick you’ve picked up? Now that you’re getting laid, you feel bad about our little rivalry?”

“Don’t.” Manon’s voice was like ice. “Don’t mention her.”

“There’s the Manon I know and love.” Rhys let out a long breath. “So. Cassia talked to you. What’d she say?”

“That you’ve been drinking in the mornings – sometimes before you ride. That you wouldn’t tap out in your fight the other night until Aelin had beaten the absolute shit out of you.”

“I don’t drink before I ride,” Rhys said sharply. At least not after that first time. Too much possibility of hurting someone else.

“Whatever. Get your shit together, Rhys. Your people deserve better.”

“Sure, Manon,” Rhys drawled. “You’re the boss.”

“Rhys?”

Both Rhys and Manon turned. Feyre stood in the doorway to Rhys’s house. Her short, coarse, yellow-brown hair was mussed from sleep but her grey-blue eyes were sharp. “What’s going on?” Feyre asked. “What’s _she_ doing here?”

“Annoying me,” Rhys responded.

Feyre pointed a handgun at Manon – the one she carried on the job. Rhys felt a rush of pride as Feyre said, “Do I need to take care of her?”

Manon laughed, a sharp sound, like the snap of a bone. “Don’t bother,” she said. “I was just leaving.” She swung back onto her bike and flicked her aviators back down onto her nose, revving the engine before glancing back at the two other women. She seemed like she’s about to say something, then shook her head and took off, sending up a cloud of dust that soon settled in the still night air.

Slowly, Feyre lowered her gun. “What was that about?” she asked Rhys.

“Doesn’t matter.” Rhys kicked out her legs and stretched, the moonlight harshing her coloring, making her tattoos stand out starkly against her muscled arms. “What are you doing up?”

Feyre tugged her bathrobe up onto her shoulder from where it had slipped off. “Couldn’t fall back asleep without you there. And then I heard voices and thought I would see what was going on. You wanna tell me?”

Rhys sighed a smoke-smelling breath. Feyre wasn’t going to let it go. “She’s… _worried_ about me.”

Feyre walked over and sat down next to her. “Because she’s being a bitch or for an unfortunately sensible reason?”

“What do you think?”

“Both?”

Rhys grinned, slinging an arm around Feyre’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Hit the nail on the head. Are _you_ worried about me?”

Feyre tilted her head to meet Rhys’s eyes. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, not sounding very worried.

“You sure about that, _motek?_ ”* Rhys teased.

Feyre snaked an arm around Rhys’s middle, snuggling in as best she could against the cool night. “Well…” She paused, quiet for a moment.

“What is it?”

“I never… I don’t know how to say it. I never thought you were _safe_.”

“Safe?” Rhys prompted, interested now.

“Yeah. Safe for me, safe for yourself. You’re a fucking burning building, Rhys, Manon’s right. You’re a firefight. You’re a – a cigarette burn, I don’t know. Something hot and explosive and destructive and – jeez, I sound like an idiot, I’m sorry.”

Rhys laughed, and warmth blossomed in her chest like she’d taken a swig of hot coffee. “You don’t sound like an idiot. I like it. But you better be careful. ‘Cause you’re like a forest, and I don’t want to burn you to the ground.”

“Fuck that,” Feyre said with a slight shrug. “If it happens, it happens. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rhys paused. “You’re still wearing a helmet when you ride with me, though.”

Feyre snorted a laugh. “Whatever, Rhys. I’m not _that_ much of an idiot. You can keep that particular destructive impulse, ‘kay?”

“Deal,” Rhys agreed. “And – you know you can always fuck off if it gets to be too much, right? Just say the word, and I’m gone.”

“Nah. I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried,” Feyre said, and leaned her head on Rhys’s shoulder. “Pine sap, that’s what you are.”

Rhys laughed. Feyre’s hands were coated with the stuff when she got home five days out of seven. “You say the cutest things.”

“Shut up – we both know I’m right,” Feyre said, poking Rhys’s shoulder.

Rhys hummed in agreement, and they both lapsed into silence, staring out at the expanse of stars that hadn’t yet lightened with pre-dawn glow. She knew as well as Feyre that she was burning. It may not have been as obvious as others’ destruction – Ari’s, for instance – but there was going to be a reckoning sooner or later.

And it looked like Feyre was going to be there with her.

**Author's Note:**

> *motek: a Hebrew endearment meaning "sweetie."


End file.
